When Iron Finally Rusts
by RainbowAnatomy
Summary: Virginia "Pepper" Potts loves Tony Stark with all her heart. It's not enough. (Rated T to be safe. Post AoU, C1: Pre CA:CW, C2: Post CA:CW, Pre A:IW)
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N:_** _I really wanted to think of a moment when Tony calls her Virginia or a nickname of the type instead of Pepper or Pep. I was also curious as to what Tony meant when he said that he and Pepper were taking a break. Also, Tony totally joined a fight club at some point, sooooo. Takes place before Civil War (or whichever movie he says they're taking a break in). Enjoy._

* * *

The way Tony Stark kisses her makes her feel like he is trying to build the world from the ground up, as if he could forget about all the destruction he brought, and kiss creation into existence. His body always shakes when he lies next to her, his hands always tremble when he holds her, and his lips always quiver when they meet hers. Even when he is still, he is always moving.

Sometimes it's like she can't even see him. He can be standing there, in his lab, now for rebuilding and refurnishing cars, humming their favorite song, and he is invisible to her. When he catches her watching, he turns, staring right through her, beyond what she could ever see, before returning to her, a small, broken smile on his lips.

It starts when he begins to stumble home in the middle of the night. Not eleven, not midnight, but two am, crashing through the front door, barely conscious enough to disarm J.A.R.V.I.S.'s alarm. Drunk off his ass, he plods into the grand living room, where she is waiting, arms crossed, eyes on fire.

"Where the hell have you been, Tony?" she asks, knowing her voice is tight with tears of worry, not of anger.

" _GINNY!_ " he slurs at top volume, suddenly realizing where he is. She ignores her old nickname.

"Answer me, Tony."

And instead, he falters forwards, as if he is about to hit the ground. She catches him, she always catches him, and he kisses her. He tastes of hard liquor and cheeseburgers, but underneath, his lips are quivering. He is creating. Her anger melts, relieved to have him home, and she lets him take her to bed, knowing he falls asleep easier after an orgasm.

It progresses when he returns home one night at four am. His veins are filled with vodka and scotch, but his head rings with a different kind of ache. He limps into the living room, knowing somewhere in his burning head, she will be there waiting for him. She is asleep on the couch at this point, curled up to one of the decorative pillows she yells at him for using.

After a few minutes of watching, he is hit with a violent wave of nausea and he forces himself to run to the bathroom, puking into the toilet, clinging to the rim like it's the only thing that will make his world still.

"Tony, it's four in the morning," her voice, groggy with sleep, sounds from the doorway, "When did you get home?"

"Don't worry about it," he chokes out, before a second wave hits him, "Go to bed, I'll be there as soon as I brush my teeth."

His words are strung together like crushed Christmas lights. She sighs, wondering what she's going to do with him. But the thought of bed pulls her up the stairs. She lies down, waiting. After a few minutes, she hears his footsteps heavy on the stairs. He arrives in the doorway seconds later, a bleary smile across his lips.

"Come here," she tells him, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too, Ginny," he murmurs. She has gotten used to him using the nickname when drunk off his ass, knowing the next day he will wake up calling her 'Pep' again. He crawls in besides her, hiding his face in her shoulder as it contorts with anguish, feeling pain sweep up his side as she embraces him. He kisses her as a guise. He tastes like hard liquor and blood.

She pulls back at the metallic addition to his lips, reaching over and turning on the nightstand lamp and finally gets a good look at his face. He cringes at the light - he's become a creature of the dark - and avoids her assessing eyes. She sees a swollen shut black eye and a bloody split lip. When she moves to take off his shirt, he lets her. She gasps. His torso is littered with blooming purple bruises. His body is shaking.

"Tony…," she starts, not knowing what to say, "What… What happened to you?" In her head, she remembers the red and gold suit. "Is this…?" He knows what she's asking and shakes his head, a cocky smile pulling across his broken face.

"First rule about fight club, Ginny," he says, "Don't talk about fight club."

If he weren't so battered and drunk, she would have kicked him out of their room and made him sleep alone right then and there. Instead, she sighs, and gets out of bed, ignoring his slurred cries in attempts to get her to return. She is the one who sleeps on the couch instead.

The next night, she goes to bed at ten and pretends to still be asleep when he bangs into their room at four, calling her name loudly at first, then more softly. She squeezes her eyes shut tight as he slips in next to her, throwing a trembling arm around her waist, kissing her neck, before snoring into her ear for the remainder of the night.

A week later, he kisses her goodbye, promising to be home before midnight. Once the clock strikes four, she's had enough. She writes a letter, because breaking his heart in person would make her break as well. But she can't watch him destroy himself anymore, and his kisses do not create any peace for either of them when they are soured by alcohol and blood.

She wasn't enough to make him stop fighting. The fights he enters are for the greater good, she can't convince either of them otherwise. But worrying about him every time he leaves is too much. Maybe in her absence he will be able to create something more again. Maybe the only fight he will lead is the one to get her see him again. She misses him so much.

She leaves the letter in his lab, all the way in the back, where the one remaining Iron Man suit hangs, untouched, pristine, waiting. She knows he will find it there - He tried to stop. He couldn't. -

It's only a matter of time.


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N:_** _So, apparently it is CA:CW where we find out they are taking a break so there's that, but (Spiderman: Homecoming spoiler) Tony and Pepper are back together now, a few months after CA:CW. But I feel like there should be a bit more to this story. For some strange reason, they are a straight couple that I just absolutely adore. Probably because Pepper is the only one who can wrangle Tony and his crazy antics. So, here's another chapter, sorry it took so long. It has a very different feel than the first. Indulge me. takes place post CA:CW, pre IW. spoilers, of course._

* * *

She goes to the house by the sea at midnight to gather some things she had forgotten. The rooms are empty, a ghost town within the walls, the overlooked ocean an inked grave to go with it. She wanders through, barely recalling why she came in the first place. Her phone buzzes again in her pocket, and she switches it off, walking into the living room, where she picks up the remote and turns on the news. Part of her wants to see if he had come home after the reported destruction of the airport; after the Avengers' Civil War.

* * *

The moment the Captain's shield hits the ground, Tony Stark grows still. When he is able to pick himself up, he does not even muster the strength to disengage his wrecked suit. Instead, he limps towards the quinjet, ears still ringing from the fight, from finally knowing how his parents died.

"Would you like me to run a final damage analysis, Mr. Stark?" F.R.I.D.A.Y. asks. He sags against the pilot seat, his mask thumping to the ground.

"No thanks," he sighs, "Just take me home."

"OK, which locat-." He does something he rarely does: switches his AI off.

He arrives at the house by the sea. He's too exhausted to reactivate and berate F.R.I.D.A.Y. for taking him _here_ , this damned glass and steel reminder that he is now utterly and completely alone. He stumbles up the door, finding it unlocked. His heart rate spikes again, tunnel vision setting in as he slinks inside, donning his helmet again.

The TV is on; he can hear it as he creeps further into the house,

 _"_ _The whereabouts of Tony Stark are unknown, as are Steve Rogers, James Buchanan Barnes, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton, Scott Lang, and Natasha Romanoff. Thor and Dr. Bruce Banner are still missing, as off the tragedy of Sokovia."_

He raises his hand, blasters ready, and whips around the corner into the living room.

* * *

Pepper Potts whirls around and freezes, eyes stretched open at what she sees. Iron Man is there, poised for attack, scratched, banged up. Broken. The remote clatters to the floor, batteries popping out, rolling across the marble.

Everything happens in slow motion; he reaches up and takes off the helmet,

"Pepper," he gasps, disengaging his suit. She stares, still. His limbs are quaking. His face is swollen and bruised, there's blood on his lips and under his nose. She finally meets his gaze, remembering how bloodshot they were last time she saw them in person. Now, they are foggy with unwilled tears, ringed with black and blue; now, they are still.

She cannot remember the last time she saw him not creating. "Tony," she breathes, "What _happened?_ " He takes a step forward before crumpling towards the ground. She springs forward and catches him before his head hits the floor. "Tony?" He's unconscious; he's breathing, albeit shallowly. She cradles his head in her lap and waits.

When he comes too, she is watching him. She's been crying. He sits up, too fast, whacks their heads together. She yelps and it's his turn to hold her. He's saying her name over and over, increasingly desperate and softer, against her cheek. He holds her against his chest, where his heart is thumping unevenly, and she stays there, breathing in the scent of blood and sweat and ash. He's nearly unrecognizable, this broken, sober, crying man.

"Tony…" she starts, but his eyes are fluttering shut again, his breath sour with blood on her face. "Come on," she murmurs, "Let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

In the bathroom, she starts the shower. He groans as he goes to undress, and she looks away, biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. When she finally hears the shower door slide shut, she simply gathers his clothes in her hands and heads towards the washing machine, grateful for the moment in solitude.

She steels her nerves to simply walk passed the bathroom when she's started the wash, but his voice calls, "Thank you, Pepper," and she pauses.

He is standing in the water stream, wincing as he washes his hair. Shampoo suds spill towards his eye and he groans, rubbing them under the water before blinking them open and squinting around the sting.

She hovers in the doorframe. _Just walk away_ , she tells herself, _Just. Walk. Away._

"Let me help you."

His eyes widen as she steps into the bathroom, into the shower, fully clothed but there nonetheless. Her eyes are careful not to wander, fixed on his before he turns around and sighs as she reaches up, running her fingers through his hair, massaging gently.

When he groans or flinches, she apologizes gently. When she is finished with his hair, she pauses, hands having trailed to his shoulders unconsciously, fluttering lightly over the bruises. Her eyes follow the purple map of the broken man.

He turns meaning to say something, anything, break the silence, kiss her, touch her, anything. She balks, eyes snapping up to meet his gaze again, suddenly remembering where she is, how she came only to make sure he was alive.

"I'll, um, let you finish," she breathes, getting out. She feels his eyes on her as she exits the bathroom.

She makes her way towards their – no, his – bedroom. Some of her clothes are still there, thankfully, and she goes for a pair of sweatpants and a long t-shirt. The back of her mind remembers that the shirt used to be his, and, after slipping the pants on, she holds it out in front of her, hesitating.

The water turns off, and after several moments and muffled groans of pain, she hears his footsteps. He doesn't bother with a towel as he makes his way to his – no, their – bedroom. She is half-dressed. She is beautiful. She has always been beautiful. She barely flinches when he clears his throat to announce his presence, just half moves to cover herself.

She nearly drowns in the sorrow she sees in his still eyes.

"Tony, what happened with Steve?" she finally asks. He moves forward, into the room. She steps back until her legs hit the mattress. He reaches out, hand soft on her skin, and the shirt falls from her hands. His eyes search her face, lips parted. His words are building up: how much he misses her, how hard Steve hit him, how scared he is that the Avengers are ruined forever, how he will never be able to unsee that Mission Report, how much he loves her. "Tony?"

The way he kisses her reminds her of the first time his lips met hers. Except this time he's crying, clutching her shoulders in his scarred fingers. He spins them around, letting himself collapse painfully onto the mattress, pulling her with him, just kissing her and kissing her and kissing her.

She pulls back – to catch her breath, to yell at him, to remind herself that he is _alive_. The bruises terrify her; but this is not like his decent into self-destruction that made her leave. This is the fight she could not ask him to give up, the one that chewed him up, spat him out onto the cold concrete. With his chosen family gone, who else but his true partner to pick up his pieces?

They make love.

The news, still playing far away, relaying its endless list of tragedies makes for fitting background noise. His teeth catch her lips, nails drag down her back. She tangles her fingers in his still-damp hair, breath hot against his chest. Occasionally he winces from his wounds, but he pretends he does not feel the pain. She pretends not to notice.

She knows he is not creating, as there is nothing new to make between them. Rather, he is making up for lost time - finally, _finally,_ returning home.


End file.
